jVA TURE-POETR V. 
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This is a qualification in which the English have always 
delighted ; it meets us in our earliest Nature-lyrics, as, for 
instance, in that lovely cuckoo-song of the twelfth century : — 
“ Summer is a-coming in, loude sing. Cuckoo : 
Groweth seed, and bloweth mead, and springeth the wood new. 
Ewe bleateth alter lamb ; loweth after calve cow ; 
Bullock sterteth, bucke verteth, merrie sing. Cuckoo.” 
Connected with this is the poet’s love of the lakes, meres, 
and brooks that do so much to foster this vegetation, and on 
these Tennyson always writes lovingly. Wordsworth presents a 
memorable picture in his couplet, 
“The swan on still Saint Mary’s Lake 
Floats double, swan and shadow ; ” 
but equally noteworthy is Tennyson’s line 
“ The long light shakes across the lakes.” 
Notwithstanding all that has been done in this line since 
Shakspere and the Elizabethan poets, especially by Wordsworth, 
Keats and Shelley, it may be claimed for Tennyson that he has 
written Nature-lyrics that will make England more beloved than 
ever it was found before. And it must be observed that a 
naturalist might enter in his note-book any of Tennyson’s 
descriptions, such as 
“ The twinkling laurel scatters silver lights,” 
\vith entire confidence that they would never be impeached ; a 
thing that cannot always be said of many a scientific observer. 
As a painter of bird-life he is very happy. He was a genuine 
lover of birds ; and there are few English birds that have not 
found mention in his verse. The blackbird he was fond of, and 
he refers to the golden dagger of his bill ; but the thrush was his 
especial favourite, and he has imitated the thrush’s song, so far 
as words can do it, in the following lovely lyric : — 
“ ‘ Summer is coming, summer is coming, I know it, I know it, I know it ; 
Light again, leaf again, life again, love again ; ’ yes, my wild little poet. 
Sing the new song in under the blue, last year you sang it as gladly ; 
‘ New, new, new, new ’ ! Is it then so new' that you should carol so madly ? 
‘ Love again, song again, nest again, young again ’ ; never a poet so crazy ; 
And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend ; see, there is hardly a daisy. 
‘ Here again, here, here, here, happy year’ ; O warble unbidden, unchidden ; 
Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, and all the winters are hidden.” 
Keats too loved the Paradise of England, with its landscape, 
trees, leaves, flowers, grass and birds ; and from the very first 
“ There was a listening fear in his regard,” 
because something seemed to whisper that he should not enjoy 
it long. In his very earliest poem, which formed a fitting 
preface, in his romantic style, to the work which his short life 
